


Sweet Sixteenth or Close Enough

by lyricwritesprose



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, short-term Mels/Jeff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricwritesprose/pseuds/lyricwritesprose
Summary: Mels has a good time. Rory experiences the joys of time-scrambled fatherhood.





	Sweet Sixteenth or Close Enough

**Author's Note:**

> This whole story is basically elisi's fault* for posting amusing macros that got my brain turning over. When my brain starts churning, fic eventually falls out. (Elisi can be found on LiveJournal under that name. She writes good fic and good meta.)  
> Brit-picking by Persiflage; remaining errors are of course mine.  
> * Naturally, "fault" is meant in a friendly, tongue-and-cheek sort of way and all errors are mine.

"For a sixteenth birthday present," Marc said, leaning forward, "I heard she had _Jeff."_  
  
It was the day after said sixteenth birthday, and the rumor mill was operating at maximum capacity. "That's rubbish," Rory lied loyally. "She was at my place." He stared resolutely at his sandwich and added, with an inner cringe, "Baking brownies."  
  
"Are you smoking something?" Marc asked rhetorically. "Mad Mels? _Brownies?"_  
  
"Don't call her that." The truth was, Mels did on occasion come over to the Williams place to bake brownies–where _bake brownies_ involved sitting at the kitchen table with her hands in plain sight at all times, smiling her most innocent smile, while Rory measured and stirred and tried to work out how she was managing to ninja the chocolate squares off the counter _six bloody feet away from her._ Rory was a scientific-minded soul who didn't believe in cocoakinesis.  
  
But they hadn't done that on Mels's sixteenth. Of course they hadn't. Rory had baked, as a present for Mels. Mels had disappeared sometime in the afternoon and reappeared through Rory's bedroom window with grass in her hair and a pair of broken handcuffs. And then told the police, with wide, guileless eyes, that she'd got so tired baking brownies that she'd taken a nap on Rory's bed and he'd forgotten she was there.  
  
Rumor had it–well, rumor had a lot of things. But the most current and reliable rumors included a stolen police car, a drag race, a minor fender bender, and Jeff's arrest in the aforementioned stolen police car four hours after the last sighting. Rumor was happy to speculate about what might have gone on in those four hours. Rumor was happy to supply Mels with silk scarves, silk ropes, whips, high heels, novelty items of all kinds, and a wide array of foodstuffs.  
  
"I heard," Marc said, "that when they found him, all he'd say for forty-five minutes was, _'Daaaamn.'"_ He gave the word an awed intonation.  
  
Most of the boys were a bit awed by Mels. There was something about her, a sort of deranged charisma that came of having no brakes and no doubts about anything. And since they were teenagers, and boys, quite a lot of the speculation centered around sex. Sex with Mels was rumored to blow your mind, ruin you for other girls, give you religion, and make you spend the rest of your life looking for someone half as mad as she was–in short, totally worth it. Even where "it" was the possibility of arrest, embarrassment, and bodily injury.  
  
The funny thing was, even though everyone knew Mels wasn't a virgin, and speculation about her conquests ran rampant, nobody ever called her a slut. It was probably because she was mad–the madder of the Mad Girls of Leadworth, and that was saying something. It was a small village, she'd eventually hear who had said what, and nobody knew what she'd do then. You'd probably end up wearing nothing but flippers and wanted for theft, possibly in the middle of Manchester with **Manchester United Sucks This** painted on an unfortunate part of your body. With helpful arrows. Or else–and for many of the boys, this was a far worse threat–she would just laugh it off and _never sleep with you._  
  
"I also heard he was all covered with scratches and–"  
  
"Look, Marc, I really have to go, all right?"  
  
Rory ended three more conversations similarly that day. But he didn't get away without hearing three conflicting reports of what Jeff was wearing when found, two timid requests to find out if Mels might sort of maybe like the requestee, and one unlikely speculation that contradicted several laws of physics.  
  
Jeff returned to school the next day, pending a hearing. Like all members of his lucky group, he never did explain what had happened that night. In fact, after that night, he never passed along Mels-centric rumors at all. But when her name was mentioned, he sometimes got an awed, faraway look in his eye.  
  
Ten years later, Rory encountered Jeff purely by chance. He opened and closed his mouth twice, blurted, "I'm sorry, I just remembered, I left my brain in the wash," and fled.  
  
Jeff never did find out what that was about.


End file.
